


Snow Day

by cakeisnotpie



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel, Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Dresden Files - Jim Butcher
Genre: A Year Without A Santa Claus, Alternate Universe - Dresden Files Fusion, Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Fluff, M/M, Wizard Clint, birthday gift for Psistriker, detective Phil
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-22
Updated: 2015-02-22
Packaged: 2018-03-14 15:05:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3415256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cakeisnotpie/pseuds/cakeisnotpie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A man stepped out of the alley, bow in his left hand and revolver in his right. Phil took in all the details with a practiced glance of a cop. Black scuffed boots, old worn jeans, grey t-shirt emblazoned with the red words ‘Han Shot First,’ all covered by a leather biker’s jacket. His spiky blonde hair was uncovered, his handsome face bared to the wind. Carvings ran along the elegant wood of the recurve bow, and Phil could swear they glowed with a faint purple light.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Snow Day

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Psistriker](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Psistriker/gifts), [raiining](https://archiveofourown.org/users/raiining/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Stars and Stones](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3335066) by [raiining](https://archiveofourown.org/users/raiining/pseuds/raiining). 



> I started this a birthday present for Kathleen who wanted Phil turning 50, having a bad day, and Clint making it better. I had just recently read Raiining's "Stars and Stones" and got all inspired to try my own hand at a Dresden Files AU. Unremitting fluff playing with magic and characters. Hope you enjoy.

Phil’s fingers shivered even inside of his thermal lined gloves, his coffee cup long gone cold in the icy wind. The scarf covering his mouth was weighed down with crystals, his exhale freezing on the grey watch plaid. At least his old dependable snow boots kept his toes dry and warm inside his thick socks. Hat pulled down low, Phil tromped along the Chicago sidewalk, mentally kicking himself with every step.

 

A blizzard blew across Lake Michigan, blanketing the city in eight inches of snow overnight with no signs of letting up as the skies lightened from black to grey. Of course. A perfect beginning to the day; Phil already wanted to crawl back in bed and the long shift loomed before him. People did the craziest things in bad weather and cops were expected to be johnny-on-the-spot despite impassable roads.  Half the other detectives wouldn’t even make it into the precinct; the El slowed down to a crawl in this kind of weather and the busses running on shortened routes..

 

He’d taken the extra shift because today was his fiftieth birthday. Half a century on this Earth, and Phil was a bachelor with a one bedroom condo and a grey tabby that thought it ran the house. Sure, he had a job he was good at and had made Lieutenant, but his apartment still echoed and his freezer was full of individual frozen dinners. By working all day, Phil put off his mother’s annual birthday call and all the news of his sisters’ families and kids. It would probably be take out noodles for a late dinner, assuming his favorite shop was open, and some quality time with his DVR. Shaking off his thoughts, Phil crossed at the corner, waiting until a cab slid to a halt halfway into the crosswalk. Chicago drivers were dangerous on a sunny day much less with icy covered streets.

 

The growl came from a shadowy alley, two green eyes shining through the falling snow. Phil only had a moment to think of feral dogs then a white blur slammed into him, heavy weight carrying him down to the concrete, knocking the breath out of his lungs. He looked up into a mouthful of teeth, long sharp canines that curved, saliva dripping onto Phil’s face. White ropey fur covered the massive head, and animal eyes glared down at him. Fetid breath, as cold as the snow soaking through Phil’s coat, washed over him.

 

For long seconds, Phil’s brain scrambled to make sense of the large beast weighing him down. Then his army training kicked it; save his ass first then ask questions. He tried to roll it off him, get his arms free to reach for his gun. The creature growled, a vibration that rattled its barrel chest, and dug its long claws into Phil’s arm and side, holding him down. Raising its head, it bared its teeth and went in for the kill.

 

A whistle and a thunk then the animal reared up, a howl of pain pouring from its mouth. Arms suddenly freed, Phil rolled to his left, right into a handicap ramp and a slushy mess of dirty snow. An arrow sprouted from the animal’s thick shoulder; it turned its head, trying to catch the fletching with its teeth.

 

A man stepped out of the alley, bow in his left hand and revolver in his right. Phil took in all the details with a practiced glance of a cop. Black scuffed boots, old worn jeans, grey t-shirt emblazoned with the red words ‘Han Shot First,’ all covered by a leather biker’s jacket. His spiky blonde hair was uncovered, his handsome face bared to the wind. Carvings ran along the elegant wood of the recurve bow, and Phil could swear they glowed with a faint purple light.

 

“Ferrum Ferveo!” the man said, The arrow in the creature blazed with the same purple energy; it howled and wracked its body, trying to get away from the pain. In its contortions, it darted out into the street, right into the path of a transit bus. With a sickening crunch, the big animal flew in the air and slammed into an oncoming Ford Explorer. The SUV skidded into the path of the taxi that was avoiding the stopped bus and set off a chain reaction of brakes squealing and metal crunching against metal.

 

“You okay?” The man asked. The revolver had disappeared, and he held out one hand covered by a fingerless black glove. Phil took it and stood up; the wind cut right through his wet clothing and he shivered. It wasn’t the touch of fingers on his wrist; no, Phil was cold, that was why he felt an electric charge run along his skin. “You hurt?”

 

Phil took stock; aches and bruises, but he was mobile and all in one piece. “I’ll be fine. What the hell was that thing?”

 

Voices sounded as people exited their vehicles; horns blared as traffic began to back up. Taking out his cell phone, Phil punched in the number to the precinct.

 

“You sure you want to do that?” The guy asked. For the first time, Phil noticed that the bow was gone.

 

“Didn’t you have a bow?” he asked as he waited for a connection. The line clicked and began to ring.

 

“A bow? That would be weird,” the guy answered with an aw shucks grin. “Who would be running around the streets of Chicago with a bow?”

 

“Sargent Triplet,” said the voice on the other end.

 

“Trip, this is Coulson. We’ve got a pile up two blocks over. Bus hit some sort of animal and looks like there’s some injuries. Going to need EMTs and some cops to direct traffic,” Phil said. He couldn’t bring himself to describe the animal that looked roughly the size of a St. Bernard lying across the hood of the SUV.

 

“Didn’t even make it into the office and you’re on the job.” Trip’s laugh rang over the phone. “I’ll put in the order.”

 

“Thanks.” Phil clicked off his phone, half surprised the guy was still standing next to him. “Now, what the hell is going on and why is there a big white cat loose in the city? Are you some kind of animal control or something?”

 

“Something like that,” the man agreed. “Look, you can call Lieutenant Romanov over in the Special Division; she’ll vouch for me.”

 

It hit Phil then; he’d seen this guy before when he’d been down at Police Plaza for a meeting. He was Romanov’s pet, the consultant she used to close cases, the one who billed himself as a magician. Had an office, a phone listing, and even business cards that proclaimed he was a wizard for hire. Everyone gave Natasha a hard time about it, but no one could deny that she got results.

 

“You’re Barton.” Phil eyed him up and down. Last time, he’d only caught a glimpse; now he was close enough to see the incredible blue grey of his eyes and the faint hint of stubble along his cheek. Much younger than Phil thought, Barton was downright good looking and that wasn’t the long dry spell Phil had been in talking.

 

“You can call me Clint.” Barton shrugged good naturedly. “Since I saved your life and all.”

 

“You still haven’t answered my question. What was that?” Phil demanded.

 

Behind the whistle of the wind as it funneled through the tall buildings, a set of howls rose in the distance. Barton jerked his head up and raised a hand, poised and listening.

 

“Damn it. They always come in threes. Shit.” He reached out and grabbed Phil by the wrist. “Run.”

 

“Wait, what?” Phill used his weight to keep Barton from pulling him forward. “There’s more of them?”

 

“Yeah, nasty little buggers they are too. Once one of them has your scent, the others follow. Hive mind, I guess you could say. They’ll be coming after you.” Barton yanked Phil forward. “I hope you can run fast because these guys like the rooftops.”

 

Stumbling along behind Barton, Phil needed a few steps to gather his thoughts. What was he doing? Trusting a crazy man who believed he was a wizard? Yes that had definitely been an animal that landed on him, but what did he know for sure? And why was he running away from the scene? As they careened down the alley, sliding around a corner and crossing the next street, Phil pulled away from Barton’s hold, intending to stop but another of the creatures landed on top of a parked Honda, crinkling the metal with its weight.

 

“Come on,”Barton shouted. “Not much further.”

 

Phil put on a burst of speed, grateful he’d slipped on his Yaktrax this morning. In front of him, Barton paused, spinning around, his bow appearing from seemingly nowhere. The arrow buzzed by Phil’s shoulder; he risked a look behind. Caught in mid-leap, the animal was thrown backwards by the force of the hit. Then it got right back up. Phil ran faster.

 

They kept ahead of the creatures for two more blocks, losing sight of them in the driving snow. Barton skidded to a halt, opening the door of the oddest car Phil had ever seen. A Charger body with a mishmash of parts and colors that gave it a patchwork feel.  The hood was burnt orange, the fenders a mottled blue, one door with only primer and the other with a lemon yellow. A rust spot spread across the trunk. It looked like it was ready for the junk yard, not the streets of Chicago.

 

“Hey, don’t judge. It’s a classic,” Barton said as he tossed the bow in the back seat. “And it’s about to save your ass, so no bad mouthing the Falcon, dude.”

 

One of the creatures came bounding around the corner; Phil got in the passenger side, slamming the door shut. Barton revved the engine; it turned over with a growl of power and crackle of static from the radio. He threw the car into gear and peeled out, chains on the tires chewing up the snow, weaving around slower moving vehicles.

 

“They’re called Nivitta. Snow and Ice elementals, mostly work for the Winter Court but can be harnessed by a strong enough wizard. The storm called them and someone set them on the trail. They’re hunters by smell more than sight and what one knows, they all know.” Barton talked as he drove, if the way he jerked the wheel and barely cleared fenders with other cars could be called that. Phil closed his eyes a few times but the car fishtailing on the slick streets was worse when he couldn’t see. “We need to cut their connection; now that they have your scent, they won’t stop.”

 

“Right. Some snow cat terminators are stalking me. I’ll play along. What exactly do we have to do?” Phil wasn’t sure who was crazier, the guy who believed in magic or the guy listening to him.

 

“I’ve got everything we need in my workshop. Maybe 20, 30 minutes and I’ll cut you free.” Clint turned off a main thoroughfare and onto a quieter street the plows had barely touched. The car wasn’t designed for winter driving; Barton kept it on the road by sheer force of will, turning the wheel and skidding to a stop in front of an older home. “Okay, run for the back and take the stairs down to the basement. Whatever you do, don’t touch the door until I clear the wards.”

 

“Wards?” Phil shook his head. He was halfway sure a bunch of friends were going to jump out and yell ‘surprise!’ when he got inside. If this was a big set up, some heads were going to roll. Still, the creature had been real so Phil opened the door and followed Barton across the snowy yard and down a set of concrete stairs. With a wave of his hand -- Phil noticed for the first time a series of silver rings on Barton’s fingers -- Barton made a motion in the air and then pulled the heavy door open.

 

Inside was a small room with a brick fireplace on the far wall and a tiny kitchenette just to the right. The floor was covered with mismatched rugs and the room occupied with overstuffed thrift store furniture. A small door led into what was probably an equally small bedroom and bath. Every open wall space was covered with bookshelves and loaded with paperbacks of all colors, stacked haphazardly. The feel was cozy and warm despite being a basement.

 

The door shut and Barton muttered a few words then carefully tucked his bow onto pegs in the wall, hanging his quiver on a hook. “Sorry about the mess. I wasn’t expecting guests today.” He picked up some dirty laundry and tossed it into the bedroom, out of sight. Rolling up the edge of one rug, he reached down and pulled opened a trap door. “Right. I’ll get started and then we’ll …”

 

The door rattled; a muffled growl sounded followed by a loud thump. Ice began to form across the surface of the door.

 

“Okay, change of plans. Down we go,” Barton motioned to the stairs. “I think that door will hold, but better safe than sorry.”

 

The room below was cluttered with boxes and plastic tubs, shelves lined with bottles and jars, candles and bowls. The only clean space was a silver circle embedded in the floor in the corner, runes etched into the metal. It was pristine, swept clean, not a speck of dust anywhere to be seen inside of it. The cold seeped up from the stone floor and through the cracks between the old bricks of the walls. Barton lit the lanterns hanging from hooks and started pulling out an odd collection of items.

 

“Talc, essence of limburger, a touch of sulfur … where’s the smelling salts?” he muttered as Phil stood off to one side, in front of a stack of very old looking books.

 

“Besides the garlic salt; lift up [_Gay T-Rex Law Firm Executive Boner_](http://www.amazon.com/Gay-T-Rex-Law-Firm-Executive-ebook/dp/B00S30K4LO),” a voice said out of seemingly nowhere. “Put that puppy up here; I need to do a reread of that masterpiece of gay dinosaur fiction.”

 

“Wade.” Barton looked up to one of the higher shelves; a glowing red light flashed in the empty eye sockets, curvy black writing covering the bone. “What have I told you about talking when we have guests?”

 

“Oh, right, boss man. Can’t blame me for forgetting since you never have guests.”

 

Phil did a double take. The voice was definitely coming from the skull; the lights flashed in time to its .. his? … words. Immediately, he began to think of explanations: a microphone and LED Christmas lights would do it. But why?

 

A loud thump and crash sounded from upstairs. “Um, Clint, dude, a nivitta just broke through the window; who have you been pissing off?”

 

“Damn it,” Clint darted up the stairs and slammed the trap door shut. “The wards should have stopped them.”

 

“Yeah, nope. Remember when I told you to pay for the Himalayan rock salt and you got Morton’s instead?” Wade was sassy, whatever else he was. “Ice elementals would have no problem getting through.”

 

“Fuck it.” Clint turned and shoved a glass jar into Phil’s hands. “They shouldn’t have found us so fast. The scent potion is out.”

 

“Well, duh, bird boy. The snow is magical, right? And you carried it in with you, didn’t you?” The skull said.

 

“Aw, no.” Clint hung his head. “Damn it all.”

 

“What’s going on?” Phil finally broke in to ask. So much was happening in such a short time. Maybe it was the talking skull that was the sticking point.

 

“The storm powers them and we’re covered in melting snow. They can zero right in on us.” Clint shrugged out of his leather jacket and tossed it onto the floor. “Anything that has our scent on it has to go.” His shirt followed and then he began toeing off his boots. “Toss everything in the pile.”

 

When Barton started on his belt, Phil jolted out of his innui. “Are you … you want me to take off my clothes?”

 

“Unless you want to be eaten.” Barton dropped his jeans; Phil’s brain almost stopped working at the sight of washboard abs and muscular thighs; it had been too damn long since he’d had anything but his own hand for company.

 

“You need to work on your pick up lines, boss,” Wade said. “Generally, you buy ‘em a drink before you get to the sex.”

 

“Ward!” Clint shouted. “Not helping.”

 

“Um, ah, yeah, okay.” Smooth wasn’t something Phil did well, thus why he was 50 and alone. Turning his back, he started peeling off clothes, tossing them in the pile. He left the contents of his pockets, his watch and his gun on one of the shelves, pausing only when he was down to his boxers to glance up at the door. Scrabbling claws rattled the wooden slats jump and did nothing to mute the growls. “At least it doesn’t have opposable thumbs.”

 

The door creaked and lifted a bit as a paw tried to worm its way underneath.

 

“Did I mention these guys are really smart? I meant to. Honestly.” The skull rocked a bit as the trap door shuddered, lifted more then dropped back down.

 

“Get in the circle,” Clint said to Phil. “We’re out of time.”

 

Last time Phil had been naked with another man, outside of the locker room in the precinct, he’d had mood lighting and quiet jazz playing in the background. Much as he tried to keep his eyes from wandering, he couldn’t resist the bare skin bathed in the lantern’s glow. Clint was muscular but lean, hip bones curving around, dark blonde hair covering … Phil jerked his head up as a blush covered his cheeks, and he met the amused stare of Clint’s blue grey eyes.

 

“Wow,” Wade said, giving a wolf whistle. “Hubba-hubba. Now that’s a bar. This guy just shot up to the top of my fantasy list.”

 

“Never getting out again,” Barton warned, giving the skull a hard stare. “If you don’t shut up.”

 

The door creaked, hinges groaning under the weight of the animal trying to claw its way through. Nakedness forgotten, Phil stepped over the silver inlay and shivered, goosebumps rising on his skin. Barton grabbed a squeeze bottle and doused the pile of clothes before he began to draw some runes in the dirt with a pointed stick.

 

“Um, Clint,” Wade said. A loud crack, and the creature’s shaggy head appeared between the broken wooden slats. “You might want to hurry.”

 

“Not helping,” Clint told the skull, not looking up from the last few motions. “We’re going to need the King. You have my permission to go get him.”

 

Phil didn’t get a chance to ask any more questions; the nivitta was slinking down the stairs, sniffing the air. Narrow slits of pupils, scanned the room, settling on Clint; it paused, chest rumbling in a low growl.  Crouching onto its back haunches, the beast tensed its muscles, preparing to spring.

 

“Get off the roof, get off the roof” Barton muttered. Seriously, who quoted Mulan at a time like this?

 

In the two steps it took to get Clint inside the circle, the cat launched itself straight at them, flying through the air in a graceful arc. Clint touched his finger to the silver inlay; Phil noticed the hollow in the cheeks of Barton’s butt for a split second before he cringed as the animal slammed into an invisible barrier, crumpling from the force just feet from Phil’s face. He jerked back instinctively; Clint grabbed him by the elbow, stopping him from breaking the circle.

 

“Whoa,” Barton said, spinning Phil around. They twisted in the small space, falling into each other, chests bumping together, hips coming into alignment. Phil held his breath, willing himself to stay calm. “Anything passes the boundary, the protective magic will dissipate. We’re safe for the time being.”

 

“Aside from a monster breathing down our necks?” Phil’s voice was amazingly steady considering the way his cock was starting to fill out as Clint’s hands curved along his waist. There was no way the jerky movements were going to go unnoticed. “I hate to be a wet blanket, but how are we getting out of here?”

 

“Seems to me you’re pretty happy with where we are,” Barton said, a grin flashing across his face, not hiding his amusement at the situation. “Wade was right about one thing; I’m a bit of a size queen.”

 

The nivitta shook its head, knocking over a stack of plastic tubs and some books. “There’s a time for everything,” Phil said. “Maybe we can talk about this later?”

 

Damn man took his time releasing Phil and taking a small step back, separating their bodies. He was still too close for comfort, and the smallest glance downward told Phil that Barton was interested as well. As least there was that salve for his ego.

 

“Just waiting on … there he is.” Clint nodded to the simple wooden staircase where a large but sleek grey persian was delicately picking his way down, cautiously sniffing the air. The creature turned a gimlet eye towards the much smaller animal; the cat hissed, fur standing on end. Circling, the nivitta stalked towards the stairs.

 

“Wade. Get your ass on that counter and do your job,” Clint said. “Stop baiting it.”

 

The cat raised an eyebrow … literally … and silently jumped across to a counter top, weaving his way through the various items. He paused beside a simple glass beaker; with one paw swipe, it tumbled off and into the pile of clothes with a shattering thump. A cloud of smoke rose and the fabric burst into flames. The nivitta whipped around, gave a sharp bark of pain and began to shake as the smoke settled on its fur. Glowing red dots appeared all over the animal; it snorted then growled in pain, rolling onto its back in an effort to extinguish the small fires that were burning into its flesh.

 

“Iron ore in suspended liquid,” Clint told Phil. “The fire burns away our scent and releases the small pellets. Messy but it works; the smell of the flames should filter over to the other nivittas and cancel out their link to us.”

 

Phil sighed as he looked at the burning heap; nothing said happy birthday like being late for work, tracked by wild beasts, inside a magical circle, naked, with a really hot guy, and his clothes nothing but ash.

 

“You might want to …” Clint turned away as the animal howled and began thrashing. Ducking his head, Phil saw the edge of the blast as it exploded, white splattering all over the room and against the magical barrier. The warning was enough for him not to jump, but it brought his hip in contact with Clint’s hand and twisting to avoid more skin-to-skin brushing only ended up with Phil’s hand on Barton’s chest, grazing one peaked nipple.

 

“Sorry,” Phil murmured. “I’m not good in small spaces … I mean, I’m usually more together than this.”

 

Scuffing his toes across the silver runes, Barton brought down the circle, residue dropping to the floor in puddles that began to melt. “Yeah, I’ll give you a break. You’ve had the supernatural shoved down your throat today; you handled better than most people would.”

 

“Seen a few things,” Phil admitted. “On my tours in Afghanistan. And I’ve worked with Natasha. Still, this is a hell of a way to start a long day.”

 

Clint stepped out of the circle, avoiding the wet spots. “Sorry about the clothes and all. You can borrow some of mine. We’re about the same height. I’ve got sweats and stuff.”

 

“I’d appreciate it. I have a change in my locker at the station; just have to get from here to there.” Phil almost tripped over the cat as it wound its way through his ankles, looking up at him with eyes that sparkled red. “Um, he’s yours, I take it?”

 

“Out, Wade. We’ve got work to do,” Clint addressed the cat. “No arguments.”

 

A cloud of red mist floated up and out of the cat’s body, hovering over the skull and dropping back inside. “Aw, Clint. I was going to have some fun. It’s whip night down at the club.”

 

“We’ve got to figure out how these things got here and who called them.” Clint didn’t hesitate climbing up the stairs, waving a hand at the smoking pile to extinguish the smoke and flames; Phil’s brain drained out his ears at the sight of those glutes flexing, little hollows appearing in the curve of Clint’s back. “Come on, Thran, I’ll fill up your bowl. I know you’re pissed at me.”

 

“Thran?” Phil managed to ask.

 

Clint turned and smiled, catching Phil’s eyes flickering up from his ass. “Thranduil, King of Mirkwood. A prima donna who rules the roost. I’m surrounded by divas. You coming?”

 

“Sure,” Phil shrugged. At some point, the humiliation became mute. “As long as you explain. And I can use your phone.”

 

“Good luck with that,” Clint said, his head disappearing through the broken slats of the trap door. “Magic has a terrible effect on electronics. But you’re welcome to try.”

* * *

 

 

“You expect me to believe that wild animals are roaming the streets of Chicago in the middle of a blizzard? Ones that can survive being hit by a bus?” Commissioner Pierce was on a roll, his voice going deadly quiet in the briefing room. Phil held completely still, his eyes never leaving the top button of Pierce’s collar; thank God he’d changed into his fresh khakis and button down shirt from his locker. The last thing he wanted to be was wearing Clint Barton’s clothes and smelling his musky scent while getting reamed out by his boss’s boss.”Tell me another one, Fury. And make this one the truth. I’ve got reported sightings of everything from a big house cat to a snow leopard to a Goddamned yeti.”

 

“Sir, I understand the civilian’s worries, but what we have are some big cats that were illegal pets. We’re trying to track down the owner and round up the animals. They haven’t done more than growl and scare people, aside from the traffic accident which can be blamed on the snow as much as the cat,” Chief Fury said, as calmly as he could manage under the situation. Nick had listened carefully to Phil’s story, the real one including melting wicked witch monsters and magical circles, put his head down on his desk then began crafting a plausible alternative. “Make it a lesson about exotic animals in the home. The weather will be the top story anyway.”

 

“That’s why I like you Nick,” Pierce said, dropping down in a chair. “Always thinking of the best angle. Any leads on where they came from? Some asshole with too much money on his hands? That would play nicely into the narrative. What about involving that reporter down at channel seven, Sharon Carter? She’s fair and believeable.”

 

Nick caught Phil’s eye and jerked his head to towards the door. “I need that report, Coulson, ASAP. Get to work.”

 

Phil didn’t need more than that to get up and flee the room, at a sedately pace, of course. Braving Pierce’s moods wasn’t on Phil’s agenda for the day, but then nothing that had happened would be high on his ways to spend an unwelcome birthday.

 

He made it to his cubicle before the others descended on him. Skye was first, bringing a cup of coffee and a cruller she salvaged from the break room before Jasper got to it. Jemma and Fitz from forensics were on her heels; Jemma, at least, had a report in her hands. Fitz made no bones about his interest in finding out all the details.

 

“So,” Skye said, setting down the cup and the donut. “Spill. I want to know everything about wizard hottie dude. Did you see his biceps? Serious arm porn there.”

 

“He’s not a wizard,” Jemma said with a huff. She looked so young; they all did. When did Phil become an old man? He remembered when he was one of the newbies, going out drinking after his shift with friends and thinking he could save the world.

 

“Oh, come on, Jemma,” Fitz objected. “There’s so much we don’t know. We can’t rule out the existence of unknown abilities.”

 

“Fitz believes MIddle Earth is real,” Skye explained. Unlike the stereotype of a computer geek, Skye was the center of the social life around the station. She remembered birthdays, ordered cakes and knew everyone’s hobbies. “Me, I’m more interested in that very firm ass.”

 

“I didn’t notice.” Phil had learned to keep his face impassive and lie well over the years. “I was too busy trying not to get clawed.”

 

“How did Barton stop it? With a spell?” Fitz asked, leaning over the edge of the desk.

 

“Sorry to disabuse you, but Barton had a bow. Hit one of them with an arrow.” Still a strange answer, Phil knew, but it was the truth. “He’s a good shot.”

 

“A bow?” Skye’s eyes lit up. “That explains the biceps.”

 

“Excuse me, Lt. Coulson?” Natasha Romanov stood in the squad room. “Can I have a moment?”

 

A small woman, Natasha was a big personality; she’d carved out a place for herself if the Special Division, bulldozing her way through the old boy network to make the team she wanted. Rumor was, even Commissioner Pierce bowed to her wishes when she made them known.

 

“Of course, Lieutenant,” Phil replied. Skye, Jemma and Fitz ducked their heads and slipped away; one perk of getting older was not being intimidated by strong people. “I imagine this is about Clint.”

 

“Actually, I’ve got some exotic animal dealers for Fury to use as a smoke screen; bad guys to the last man, so no guilt throwing them to the wolves.” Natasha smiled at her pun. “But, yes, this is about Clint. I convinced him to wait downstairs with Trip and Hunter. Last thing Pierce needs to see is our resident wizard’s involved in this.” She sat down in the plastic chair  by Phil’s desk. “Are you doing okay? Clint said you got thrown in the deep end this morning.”

 

“I’m dealing,” Phil answered honestly. “Paperwork is mindless; it helps not to think about it.”

 

“For awhile,” she agreed. “Most people decide within a few days that there’s a logical explanation for what they saw and go back to not knowing. Something tells me you’re not that type.”

 

“Life isn’t always nice and neat,” Phil said. “I learned that a long time again.”

 

The door to the conference room opened and Pierce exited, walking purposefully towards the stairwell; Natasha waited until the commissioner was out of sight before she approached Nick. “I’ve got some info for you; remember when we had that spider problem a year or so ago? I have the names of the dealers who sold them …” she said, walking with Nick to his office.

 

For the moment, Phil was alone. Case files spread across his desk, his computer open to the report he needed to begin working on. So much to get done and yet, he sat there, remembering the morning, the weight of the animal trapping him, the cold snow soaking into his clothes, the tingling warmth of Clint’s fingers. A pull on the coffee didn’t wake him from his stupor; maybe Natasha had been right. Phil needed time to process all that had happened.

 

He didn’t get it. Voices floated up the stairs, startled exclamations followed by shouting. Then crashing and a loud thump with a full-throated scream. Jumping to his feet, Phil drew his gun just as the window on the north side of the wall exploded in shards of glass and a nivitta leapt onto Victoria’s desk, four over from Phil’s. It paused there, sniffing the air, eyes surveying the room. This one was different that the others; a mane of white hair ringed its head, its haunches more powerful, whole body bigger. When those yellow eyes landed upon Phil, the weight of the stare nearly knocked the breath out of him. Eyelids narrowed, focus intensified, and the big cat prepared to spring.

 

Phil ran. He made it out of his cubicle and down the aisle, taking a right hand turn by Blake’s desk. The creature landed on the floor and slid on the polished tile, knocking over one of the partitions and trapping itself for a second under it. His thoughts ran quickly, pulling ideas and discarding them just as fast; the thing was coming for Phil, no doubt about it. He had to get it out of the squadroom and away from people. He could use an iron bullet or maybe an iron bar …

 

The door to the holding cells was ajar. Iron bars. Cell bars. Phil veered to his left and skidding around the corner, slamming the heavy steel door behind him. The two cells were unoccupied, the snowy day a damper to even the criminal element. As the outer door vibrated, the nivitta crashing into it until the hinges creaked, Phil entered a cell and swung the bars shut behind him.

 

Another blow and the hallway door groaned; Phil held his breath. If this didn’t work, he was screwed; there was no way out of the cell block but one window and this was the second floor. At least the thing’s attention was squarely on Phil; he hoped everyone else was vacating the building.

 

With a terrible screech, the hinges blew out and the door dropped to the floor. Big paws padded over the bent metal, stalking forward, never taking its eyes off Phil. The cat came to a stop in front of the cell, tilted its head one way and then the other. Sitting on its haunches, it’s head was even with Phil’s shoulders; more a lion than a cat, its eyes met Phil’s and he would swear that the damn thing gave him a toothy grin. Slowly, it raised its paw and gently brush against the bars.  Phil flinched, expecting the creature to react, but it only turned its paw over and rumbled in its chest. Steel, damnit. The bars were made of steel, not iron.

 

“Look,what we have is a standoff,” Phil told it and the damn thing blinked at him as if listening. “Someone is going to come along soon and chase you away. May as well run along before they hurt you.”

 

In answer, it rose up onto its two hind legs and put its front paws on the bars, resting its weight against them. The pads protruded in the space between and Phil realized the animals was shifting around the bars, like molasses winding around a spoon or lava parting to avoid a formation. It was coming inside the cell with him … and Phil had nowhere to go.

 

“Fuck.” If ever there was time for cussing, this was it. “I don’t suppose you’d chase a dot. I’ve got a laser pointer in my pocket.”

 

The broad face pressed into the bars and began to ooze around them, distorting the features into a terrifying mask. Phil drew a bead on the middle of that awful forehead and fired a bullet; the nivitta flinched, but kept coming. Another shot did little to stop it; Phil backed up against the concrete brick wall, saving his ammunition for the last ditch effort.

 

A whump preceded the animal’s cry of pain. It jerked back and spun, snapping its teeth at the dart in his shoulder. It almost got a hold on the vial; Phil’s bullet drew its attention away long enough for red to spread from the injection site. Smoke rising from its skin, the creature turned tail and ran, gliding through hallway window with a crash of glass.

 

Standing in the doorway, Barton lowered the tranquilizer gun and grinned at Phil. “Steel, huh?”

 

“Who knew?” Phil replied.

 

A long black leather duster hung about his broad shoulders, beneath he wore snug black jeans and a simple grey henley (nice and clingy in all the right places, Phil noticed). As he opened the door for Phil, Clint tucked the gun back into his belt.

 

“Tranquilizer gun?” Phil asked. He’d expected magic, some kind of spell, not this.

 

“Subcutaneous iron pellets hurt like hell. Simple is always best,” Clint replied. “At least now we know what they’re after.”

 

He knew. He’d figured it out when the creature had first looked at him. “Me. They’ve been sent after me.”

 

“What the hell?” Fury demanded. “Where is the thing?”

 

“Hit it with a tranq,” Barton said, and he nodded to the window. “It jumped. Probably found a hole to lick its wounds and sleep it off.”

 

“Hell and damnation,” Fury cursed. “The vultures in the media are going to have a field day with this. And you’re right in the middle of it, Barton. As usual.” He sighed. “Coulson, get Barton out of sight before any more people see him. And find out where the hell these things are coming from. Pierce is going to chew my ass for this.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Explain to me again how standing in an alley with a hot pizza is going to help us figure out who’s behind this?” Phil shivered and hunkered into his coat, dipping his nose beneath the edge of his scarf. If anything, the wind was even  more biting now that it had been this morning. His dress shoes did nothing to stop the snow from soaking into his socks; Phil wished he could stop by his place and change into clothes better suited for the weather.

 

“I’ve got an informant,” Barton replied, his cheeks bright red. ”Should be here soon.”

 

Just then, a ball of light darted towards them from behind the distant dumpster. It flew erratically, coming to halt in front of them. Floating suspended on gossamer wings was a tiny man and woman, no more than 5 inches in height. In a red vest and black trousers, he had a shock of dirty blonde hair; she wore yellow and her black hair was cut in chunks that stood up at odd angles.

 

“Hawkeye!” the man called in his little voice, fluttering closer. “Is that pizza you have there?”

 

“As promised, Pym.” Clint put a hand on the lid of the cardboard box, keeping the pizza out of range. “Will you aid me in return for this offering?”

 

“Pizza!” the woman clapped her hands in glee. “Does it have pepperoni? I love pepperoni.”

 

“Nay, veggies. Pepperoni is not healthy, Wasp,” Pym proclaimed.

 

“But it tastes good!” Wasp protested.

 

Phil couldn’t help but stare at the two little people. Snow creatures and pixie dust? This day just got weirder and weirder.

 

“Half pepperoni and half veggie,” Clint told them, giving them a quick peek inside before shutting the box again. “Questions first, then pizza.”

 

“Aye,” Pym said. “Are you going to ask about the cold spot?”

 

“Cold spot?” Clint repeated.

 

Wasp elbowed Pym, hard enough to knock him sideways, and glanced over at Phil. “Ixney onay the agicmay,” she whispered far too loudly.

 

Why that struck Phil as funny, he couldn’t say; the absurdity of the whole day hit home and he snorted, holding in a full blown laugh. Chuckles bubbled up his throat and he fought to keep a straight face.

 

“It’s okay,” Clint assured the two little people. “Pym and Wasp, this is Lieutenant Phil Coulson of the Chicago Police Department. Phil, this is Pym and Wasp, two of the finest pixies you’ll ever meet.”

 

“Pleased to meet you.” Phil bowed his head since shaking hands was out of the question. He was proud that there was only the slightest wobble in his voice.

 

“Ah, a warrior in the city guard!” Wasp crowed with delight. “Do you know the one they call Romanov? She brings the most excellent nectar of the beans. Not as good as the Hawkeye’s pizza, but very nice.”

 

“Nat brings you coffee?” Clint shook his head. “No wonder you move so fast.”

 

“‘Tis a drug,” Pym said, all seriousness. “I have told Wasp not to partake but she loves it so.”

 

“A lot of us love it,” Phil agreed, wondering if they were going to debate the merits of caffeine standing here in the snow. “I could use a hot cup right now.”

 

“Indeed,” Clint agreed. “That’s our next stop.”

 

“A date!” Wasp clapped her hands and spun about their heads, buzzing by Phil’s ear. “The Hawkeye has meet a suitable mate!”

 

Pym hovered right in front of Phil’s eyes. “Be kind to our wizard, guardsman. Or we will find you and demand retribution.”

 

“Guys, guys,” Clint interrupted. “Phil and I aren’t dating. Not yet anyway. Probably never if you two don’t shut up.”

 

“Oh,” Wasp zoomed up and down Phil’s body, joining Pym in eyeing Phil’s face. “For a human, he is attractive. He could wear more color though.”

 

“Thank you, I think,” Phil replied, feeling awkward as hell.

 

“If we could get back on track?” Clint asked. “I need information about the nivitta that have been called up by the storm. Who sent them and why.”

 

“The storm reeks of dark magic,” Pym answered. “All the small folk have gone to ground, but us. We answered your call.”

 

“We knew you’d want to know about the cold spot,” Wasp spoke over him. “So we were looking for you.”

 

“You wanted pizza,” Pym complained.

 

“I wanted to stay warm in the nest,” Wasp shot back.

 

“Well now you can do both,” Clint said, interrupting the conflict. “Tell me about this cold spot and what you know and you’ll go home with a stuffed belly.”

 

“The cold spot is where the storm came from,” Pym said.

 

“Near the[ silver gate](http://www.chicagotraveler.com/cloud-gate-chicago),” Wasp said.

 

“The spell was cast from there,” Pym said.

 

“In the [glass diamond](http://www.chicagotraveler.com/cloud-gate-chicago),” Wasp said.

 

“And the door was opened,” Pym said.

 

“By a giant,” Wasp said.

 

Phil had no idea what they were talking about. He glanced at Clint who was nodding along to the bizarre story.

 

“Right, so a magician used the Bean, the Cloud Gate, to call up a storm, and he’s in the Smurfit-Stone building,” Clint agreed. “Thanks.”

 

“You got all that from what they said?” Phil was amazed.

 

“I speak Pixie,” Clint said with a laugh. He sat the box down on top of of a trash can after he brushed off the snow. “You might want to step back.”

 

“Why?” Phil asked. Clint flipped the lid up and the two pixies descended upon on the pizza like hungry piranha, buzzing in blurs of red and yellow as they tore into the food. The frenzy lasted less than a minute. “Oh, my. That was ...”

 

“Yeah, keep your hands and feet inside the car at all times.” Clint nudged Phil on the shoulder. They turned and headed back down the alleyway.“So who have you pissed off in the Smurfit-Stone building?”

 

“I don’t even know what’s in there besides a Starbuck’s, but I can find out.” He took out his cell phone; it blinked in and out, no wifi connection and only half a bar of service.

 

“Not going to work around me. Why don’t you grab us a cup of coffee and I’ll pull the car around; you can call from the shop?” Clint suggested.

 

Hot coffee did sound good. Phil ducked through the door of the nearest shop and felt the blast of warmth from the blowers just over the entrance. Stepping to the side, he keyed in the number and heard Melinda’s voice answer.

 

“Got a research question for you,” he said in way of opening. “I need to know what businesses are in the Smurfit-Stone building.”

 

“Is this about the giant cats you’ve got on your trail,” she replied. “Or the very good looking wizard-want-to-be you’re running around with?”

 

“You’re scary, Mel. ESP or sixth sense or something.” The familiar banter with his old friend was as normal as his day had been. “When are you going to forgive yourself and get back out in the field?”

 

“Let’s see. There’s Cain Communication, Abbot and Public Relations, three lawyer’s offices, two accountants, World Tree Industries …” Melinda ignored his question like always and began the list.

 

“World Tree? Why does that sound familiar?” Phil interrupted.

 

“World Tree’s a holding company; they purchase other businesses and put them under their umbrella. Alf Corp, Vana Manufacturing, Jotun Cryogenics …”

 

“Damn it. That’s it.” Phil glanced out the window; the coffee would have to wait. “Thanks, Mel.”

 

“I’m expecting an explanation later,” Melinda said. “And happy birthday, Phil.”

 

He ran for the car as soon as Barton pulled over, jumping in the passenger seat and slamming the door. Snow rained down from his short exposure, covering the floorboard and the seat as it turned to water. “Jotun Cryogenics. I worked a case two years ago, almost sent the CEO’s kid to jail. Laufeyson skated out under a technicality thanks to his lawyers, but the was exiled to Europe.”

 

When the car didn’t immediately pull away from the curb, Phil looked at Clint. Sitting at the wheel, Clint was staring at him in surprise. “Loki Laufeyson? You almost caught him?”

 

“Yes. We had him dead to rights on a rape charge -- witnesses who saw him put the drug in the guy’s drink, doctor’s reports, camera surveillance -- then the lawyers produced some out-of-date law about foreign nationals and privacy. Completely bogus and unrelated, but they were powerful and had lots of money to spread around.” It still burned, to lose a serial rapist like that. Phil hated the fact that justice wasn’t always blind to influence.

 

“Damn it, they said a giant did it. I thought they were just talking about a human -- we look huge to a pixie -- but they meant a literal giant.” Clint threw the car into gear, spinning his wheels in the snow in his haste to get going. “Loki is bad news. A real nasty piece of work. He could call up this storm without breaking a sweat and if he’s sending the nivittas after you, we’re going to need more firepower to make him stop.”

 

“Wait, wait, are you saying Loki is not human?” Phil thought about that for a second. “Actually, I could believe it. Man was too slick, too good at manipulating people. Always seemed to be one step ahead of us.”

 

“He’s a frost giant, son of the king. Long story, but he was adopted by the Odinsons in an old family practice of fostering used to settle feuds.” Clint drove too fast, skidding around a corner as he headed out of downtown. Despite the heavy snowfall, there were still a far amount of vehicles on the street. “Dude is crazier than a bag of cats and a powerful mage on top of that. The rape thing? He does that for fun when he’s not destroying other companies. He’ll hold a grudge for ages if you got close to catching him.”

 

“Great,” Phil sighed because, yeah, what else could go wrong today? “So you’re saying I should just go stand in the road and let them have me?”

 

“Nah, I’ve still got a few tricks up my sleeve. There’s only two people who can stop Loki and we’re going to pay them a visit. After we pick up more firepower.”

 

They made their out into an older residential area, the kind that used to be primarily immigrants and was now undergoing a gentrification. New construction and renovations were nestled beside older single-family homes. Rows of brownstones with wide front porch stoops lined the street they turned down; they came to a stop in front of one that looked well kept up, the tiny squares of front yard behind a neat wrought iron fence. For the world, it looked like a carbon copy of the street Phil’s mother lived on before she’d retired to Florida.

 

Opening the door, Phil followed Clint up the shoveled pathway, noting that the sidewalk in front of this house and the one on the left was being kept clean as well. Only a light dusting covered the concrete stairs; the owner must be home and had just shoveled for them to be this nice. Before Clint raised his hand to knock, the green door opened and a big man stood inside, his blonde hair cut short in a military style and his piercing blue eyes surveyed them both.

 

“I had a feeling you’d be showing up today,” Steve Rogers said. “This storm isn’t natural.” He stepped aside to let them in; they stomped their feet on the porch, then scraped as much snow off as possible on the iron hedgehog by the door. “Clint I was expecting; Phil, not so much.”

 

“Can’t say I imagined the day going this way either.” Phil held out his hand and shook Steve’s. “Nice to see you, Steve. How are things at the Center?”

 

“Can’t complain. Our funding got renewed for next year and the Maria Stark Foundation has us on their short list for a grant. Sam’s really made a difference in the six months he’s been on board,” Steve replied.

 

“Wait, you two know each other?” Clint kicked off his boots and turned to look at them as Steve shut the door.

 

“We were both in the army,” Steve explained. “Phil was in the rangers and I was a grunt.”

 

“That’s not true,” Phil complained. “Captain Steve Rogers was more than that. Still is. Steve’s work with vets is positively amazing.” Yeah, Phil might have a bit of hero worship for Steve. The man had taken some really bad hits and still dedicated his life to serving others. And he was handsome as sin. Straight as the day was long and far too young or Phil would have asked him out already.

 

“Phil volunteers down at the Center,” Steve told Clint. “But I doubt that’s why you’re here. Come on back to the kitchen and let me get you some tea. Or cocoa, if you’d prefer. We can at least be comfortable before we plan to save the world again.”

 

The brownstone was comfortable, nothing fancy, a nice sectional sofa in the living room facing the roaring fire, bookcases lining the walls. The kitchen was about ten years old with traditional cherry cabinets and marble countertops. A dutch oven bubbled on one eye of the gas stove, a delicious smell wafting from it. They took seats on the wooden stools at the breakfast bar; Steve filled a kettle with water and sat it on the stove, turning on the gas. He passed out mugs and offered tea bags and instant cocoa.

 

“Alright,” Steve said as he put sugar in his own cup. “Let’s have the story.”

 

Clint started at the beginning; he’d filled Phil in on how he’d come to be chasing the nivitta earlier, so Phil got up when the kettle began to whistle and filled the cups while Steve listened. Skipping the nudity, thank God, Clint reached the part about Laufeyson by the time Phil was sipping his chai tea.

 

“I should have guessed Loki was at the heart of this. He’s more an eye for an eye type rather than a turn the other cheek.” Steve sighed. “Let me guess; you want me as backup when you go to talk to Odin.”

 

“My God cancels out their gods,” Clint said with a laugh. “I’ll leave the smiting up to you if necessary.”

 

“You know I can’t …” Steve began to say.

 

“I know, I know. But they’re more likely to listen to reason if you’re there,” Clint argued. “It’s the cape and tabard.”

 

“I’ll go but only to keep you out of trouble; I remember last time you tangled with Loki.” Steve stood and put his cup by the sink. “Give me five; I’ve got to get my thermals before I put on the chainmail.”

 

Chainmail. Steve Rogers, in his khakis and plaid button downs, had chainmail and knew about magic and monsters. Did everyone know about this world within a world but him? He shook his head in disbelief. Clint nudged his shoulder as he stood.

 

“Hey, you’re doing great,” he said. “Most people would be running for the hills by now.”

 

“I can’t imagine why. I’m just going to see a giant about a magical blizzard and monsters with a wizard and a … what is Steve?” Phil paused, unsure.

 

“A Knight of the Cross. Good man to have in a fight; he’s got the big man upstairs on his side,” Clint explained.

 

“God? The Cross?” Of everything he’d run into today, this was the hardest for Phil to swallow. Sure, he’d gone to church when he was young, but his parents were C and E Christians. He knew people who attended regularly -- Trip went to mass with his grandmother every Friday  -- but a warrior for God?

 

“Blessed by the Almighty himself. Unfortunately the job comes with a strict set of rules.” Clint walked out into the hallway, Phil following. “Lots of thou shalt nots.”

 

“Am I going to find out everyone has another side to them?” Phil mused out loud. “How many are … different … not regular human?” He struggled for a term to use that didn’t sound too racist.

 

“Mundanes and Supes,” Clint supplied. “Those who are part of the supernatural community and those who aren’t. Those who are mundane but in the know are usually called supe-awares. But me, I like the term muggles.”

 

“Yeah, you don’t look like Harry Potter,” Phil said before he thought better of it. “You’re more like a warrior than a wizard.”

 

“Saw that did you?” Clint leaned into Phil’s space. “I knew you were looking. Glad you liked what you saw.”

 

“Are we taking your car?” Steve came down the stairs, buckling a wide black belt around a white cloth that hung from his shoulders. A bright red cross adorned it, centered over his chest. Beneath the tabard, silver chain mail gleamed. The red cloak about his shoulders swirled as he stopped before them.

 

“Not exactly the uniform you last saw me in,” Steve said sheepishly. “I got a new job since then.”

 

“It suits you,” Phil declared. Steve had always been the heart of his unit, the moral compass of what was right and wrong.

 

“Thanks.” Steve seemed relieved. “Let me get my sword and I’ll be ready to go.”

 

He drew a sword in its black scabbard from the umbrella pot near the door; simple and clean, the hilt was bound in wire. With the ease of practice, Steve buckled onto his belt.

 

“You walk around town like that and no one notices?” Phil asked.

 

“You’d be surprised how little flack I get,” Steve said with a shrug. “Besides, since the college kids have gotten into cosplay, people write me off as one of them.”

 

“People see what they want to,” Clint injected as they started towards the door. “By tomorrow, the bus driver from this morning will convince himself that it was a big cat or dog he hit and it ran off. Human beings have an amazing capacity for rationalization.”

 

“Because their psyches can’t handle it,” Phil said. He’d seen it happen with men in combat, convincing themselves they had no other options or were justified in their behavior. “As least that’s what the shrinks at the VA say.”

 

“Exactly,” Steve agreed. He didn’t bother with a heavy coat, just opened the door and tromped out into the snow, coming to a stop at the edge of the porch. “Okay, I don’t remember that being there this morning.”

 

Squatting on the sidewalk was the biggest snow cat Phil had seen yet. The size of a buffalo, the shaggy mass of hair waited, its hunter’s eyes trained on their every move. Phil started to step back inside, but Clint stopped him, closing the door instead.

 

“It can’t come onto sacred ground,” Clint told him. “That’s why it’s not in the yard.”

 

“I had the house and grounds blessed,” Steve offered. “Helps keep some evil at bay so I can occasionally get a good night’s sleep.”

 

Steve took three steps and halted outside of the reach of the big paws; unsnapping his sheath, he drew his sword slowly, letting the animal have time to understand exactly what was happening. As soon as the tip was free, the sword blazed with a cold blue light, casting shadows in the snow.

 

“You know what this is, creature?” Steve’s voice changed, deepened, the ring of authority filling the air.

 

It shook its head, snow flying, then spoke with a gravelly voice, pushing out sounds not meant for its throat. “I am not here for you Knight,” it said. “I have no quarrel with you nor your God. I am meant for that one.”

 

“He is under my protection,” Steve answered. Feet apart, both hands on the hilt, he blocked the way. “Attack him and you attack me.”

 

“Seems like you have a dilemma.” Clint entered the conversation, sauntering out into the snow. “You have to fulfill your purpose, but you have to obey the rules of the accords. I doubt if the Winter Court wants a full blown war with the Knights over one petulant frost giant with daddy issues.”

 

“I am called; I must respond.” No one could say the creature didn’t take its job seriously.

 

“True,” Clint agreed. “Of course, there’s no time frame, right? What’s an hour in the grand scheme of things? We’re on our way to talk to giant in question; if he rescinds the order, you won’t have to tell the Queen you were the one who broke the accords. From what I hear, she likes to kill the messenger.”

 

The nivitta blinked, eyed Phil then Steve’s sword and then Clint. “And the Knight would withdraw his protection after the hour?”

 

“Sure. But that won’t happen,” Clint replied.

 

“I would hear from the Knight; his oath is trustworthy,” the animal said. Well, damn, Phil thought. The thing was smarter than he thought.

 

“Aye, if Laufeyson doesn’t rescind the order, I will withdraw my protection,” Steve agreed.

 

“An hour. I will be waiting.” It leaped away with one graceful spring, disappearing into the snow.

 

“I thought you said Laufeyson was a real bad ass,” Phil said. “You that sure you can reason with him?”

 

“Oh, hell no. Loki’s never listened to reason a day in his life,” Clint said as he opened the gate. “We’re going to appeal to a higher authority.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Wizard Barton! ‘Tis good to see you again.”

 

Phil stood back as the larger than life man entered the room, his muscular arm outstretched to shake Clint’s hand. From his research, Phil knew that this was Thor Odinson, son of the President of World Tree. He’d never met with any of the family during his investigation; they’d all been out of the country, rather conveniently Phil had thought. Now here he was in a plush office with windows for walls with a postcard perfect view of a wintery Chicago.

 

“You as well, Thor.” Clint took the proffered hand. “I’m sorry to bother you with our little issue; I know you’re busy overseeing your company’s interests.”

 

“Nay, I owe you from that time in New Mexico,” Thor said. “And if Sir Rogers is involved, tis no small matter. Can I offer you a drink? Scottish Pride?”

 

“Not for me, thank you,” Steve refused. Somehow, he didn’t look out of place in his medieval gear.

 

“I could use a finger or two,” Clint replied. “How about you, Phil? Or are you on duty?”

 

“After the day I’ve had? I think I deserve a drink.” Phil accepted the glass and took a sniff of the excellent spirits. His first sip burned down his throat.

 

“Thor, I’d like to introduce Lieutenant Phil Coulson of the Chicago Police Department. He’s the reason we’re here.” Clint settled into one of the very modern chairs in front of a glass and steel desk.

 

“Good to meet you,” Thor said; he shook Phil’s hand with a firm grip. “Have we met? Your name seems familiar … wait.” The man’s blue eyes flashed; the floor vibrated and Phil could swear he heard a rumble of distant thunder. “You were the excellent justicar who oversaw that poor man’s case. What has Loki done now?”

 

“The storm outside is his,” Clint explained. “He’s put out a bounty on Phil’s head and sent nivittas after him. Put the civilians of the city in danger. We hoped to speak to your father.”

 

“It was part of Loki’s weregild to not seek vengeance,” Thor said, obviously unhappy with the news. “Father is in Oslo at the moment, but fear not. ‘Twas mother who set the terms of Loki’s return and she’s here.” He pressed a button on the phone on the desk. “Helga, would you ask my mother to come join us? Tell her it is important.”

 

It didn’t take long for Lady Frigga to join them; Phil had barely finished half of his scotch when she appeared, a regal woman with hair as blonde as her son’s. Tall with perfect posture, she wore a crisp white suit that cost a year of Phil’s detective salary.

 

“Your majesty.” Clint bowed his head. Phil followed suit.

 

“Wizard Barton. Your reputation precedes you.” She offered her hand and Clint took it, brushing a light kiss across her knuckles. “As does your penchant for bringing trouble.”  She turned to Steve. “Thane Rogers, a pleasure. You grace us with your presence.”

 

“Milady.” Steve bowed. “It is I who am honored to meet you.”

 

“Come, come,” Frigga said. “Take your seats and tell me what brings you to our doorstep.” She looked at Phil. “I know you. You are the man who ran Loki to ground.” She sighed and took the glass Thor held out to her. Walking to the window, she stared out at the constant fall of snow. “I felt the magic in the change of weather, but it smacks of the fae. It could have been one of Mab’s tantrums. But it is not, is it?”

 

“I’m sorry, milady, but it is of Loki’s making,” Steve replied. Clint was curiously staying quiet; Phil filed that away to ask later. “Although he may be working with someone in Mab’s court. He has sent fae assassins after Phil.”

 

Her shoulders slumped and she closed her eyes for a moment. “Of course he did. And they will keep coming until Lt. Coulson is dead. Because we don’t know the meaning of the word surrender.”

 

They all waited in silence as she contemplated the skyline for a full minute. Phil wondered what she was thinking, the foster mother of a man who turned out to be filled with evil. What she was -- Phil no longer assumed anyone was fully human -- he didn’t know, but she was a mother; he could tell by the way her eyes teared at the corners as she drew herself up and raised her hand.

 

“Loki.” She said the word and Phil felt the power wash over him. Between one heartbeat and the next, Loki Laufeyson was standing in the room, poised between Frigga and Thor. Phil took a step closer to Clint; the wizard gave him a sideways smile at the unconscious action.

 

“Well, I must say this is unexpected. Going to mother? Really?” Loki said with a laugh. Since Phil had last seen him, Loki had grown his hair out, his black locks curling up at the ends. He looked as smug as he ever had, not one drop of humility in his arrogant posture. “And a Knight of the Cross? Isn’t that overkill, Barton?”

 

“No such thing when it comes to you,” Clint replied.

 

“You will undo what you have set in motion,” Frigga said to her son. “You have broken faith with me; that I shall not forget.”

 

“Nay, mother, ‘tis true I created this marvelous storm as a favor for Brock Rumlow, but if he took it upon himself to repay me, that is not my doing.” Loki’s smile was brittle. “You’ll have to seek him out; I believe he’s with Maeve at the moment. Good luck with that.”

 

“End your spell,” Frigga repeated, “and there will be no power for the nivitta to draw upon. Think not to manipulate me with lies.”

 

“As you wish.” Loki inclined his head and waved his hand; his skin turned the blue of a frozen lake and a cold wind whispered across Phil’s skin. “It is done.”

 

Outside, the snow slackened and came to a stop. Dark clouds scuttled across the sky, breaking up and letting peeks of the sun shine through.

 

“Thor, make sure that the Winter Knight understands our position on assassination,” Frigga said.

 

“Truly, Mother, would not it be prudent to have the Court in our debt? With the vampires encroaching on the byways, we could use it to our advantage,” Loki suggested. “Odin has been searching for an opening  with Mab.”

 

“So that is your game, brother? To seek favor with our father?” Thor bristled. “You would play with a good man’s life for your own gain?”

 

“I am not your brother and Odin is NOT my father,” Loki exploded, his anger boiling over. “I”m not afraid to make the hard decisions to keep this company afloat. Someone has to.”

 

“Loki,” Thor warned, stepping closer. “Have you no honor?”

 

“Boys,” Frigga turned and glared at both men. “Thor, find Rumlow. Loki, the plane will be waiting on the tarmac; you’ll return to Oslo to explain to your actions to your father.”

 

“Mother,” Thor began.

 

“I won’t be …” Loki began.

 

Frigga raised an eyebrow and both men fell silent.

 

“Yes, ma’am,” they said together.

 

“Now, boys,” she said when they stood glaring at each other. As they left the room, she turned to Phil. “My apologies, Lt. Coulson. Be assured that there will be no more creatures coming for you.”

 

“Thank you, ma’am.” Phil choked back his ire at Loki getting off so easy. There was still no justice for his victims, but, if Phil had learned anything, it was that sometimes the powerful got their way. Phil was a realist like that.

 

“A word of warning, Wizard Barton. I hold no illusions of what Loki is capable of; he will not take lightly this second offense. Be on watch.” Frigga nodded as she glided out of the room, leaving them alone.

 

“So this is a pattern for you, pissing off powerful people?” Phil asked into the silence.

 

Clint chuckled. “It’s my superpower; I throw in the snark for free.”

 

“He has a gift,” Steve agreed. “You’ll see.”

 

* * *

 

 

It was dark by the time Phil finished the paperwork and filed it electronically. He’d gotten creative explaining what happened, finding all sorts of ways to say the cats got away, and the case was turned over to Illinois Game and Wildlife. That they’d never find them Phil kept to himself; he’d be called crazy or worse. Look at what people whispered about Natasha. Behind her back of course, out of fear of retaliation. No one crossed Natasha.

 

He left his coat unbuttoned, the temperature above freezing, feeling balmy compared to earlier. Snow plows had made it out, the streets fairly clear and the sidewalks melting. People were going about their evenings, the restaurants open and bars doing a brisk after work business. The city was coming back to life, out from under the cloud of the storm.

 

He stopped at the deli on the corner for a corned beef on rye with lots of sauerkraut and thick rye bread. The hell with the diet; Phil was alive, it was his birthday, and he’d spent part of it naked with a handsome guy. He deserved a sandwich so big he couldn’t fit it into his mouth; he got extra pickles and a side of coleslaw to go.  Letting himself into his apartment, he engaged the security system, then headed to the bedroom to change into his comfy sweat pants and an old threadbare Ranger shirt. Grabbing a beer from the fridge, he settled onto his couch, unwrapping his sandwich and flipping on the TV.  With a graceful jump, Audrey made her way onto his lap, tail twitching as she waited for crumbs to fall.

 

A knock came at his door; Phil startled in surprise and Audrey jumped off his lap. Peeking through the eyehole, he saw Clint Barton grinning at him on the other side.

 

“Um, hi?” Phil said as he disarmed the system and opened the door.

 

“Peace offering?” Clint asked, holding up a brown bag with grease stains. “Considering you spent your day with me dragging you around the city.”

 

“How did you find me?” Phil was thrown by Clint’s unexpected appearance.

 

“If I say tracking spell, would you believe me?” Clint laughed. “Okay, Natasha got your address for me. Can I come in?”

 

“Oh, yeah, sure,” Phil stepped aside and let Clint in. “Look, you didn’t have to do this. You saved my life today; if anything I owe you one.”  
  


“Maybe I just wanted to see you again.” Clint sat the bag down on the coffee table. “Wow, that looks good. From the deli down the street? Yum.”

 

“Didn’t you see enough of me today?’ Phil had game. Really he did. If Barton was going to show up and interrupt his self-pity party, he could put up with a little flirting. “All things considered.”

 

“True,” Clint agreed with a grin. “Usually I have to buy a guy dinner and drinks first; we sort of did things ass backwards. And a nice ass it was.”

 

Phil felt his cheeks redden at the compliment. “You do know I’m older than you, right?”

 

“I’m 42, Phil. I just look like I’m in my twenties. A perk of being a wizard.” Clint sat down on the other end of the couch, leaving Phil’s space open. “You got another one of those beers? The burgers are getting cold.”

 

“Make yourself at home much, Barton?” Phil locked the door and got Clint a beer. “Just don’t get near my TV or DVD player. I saw what you did to my cell phone. Thing is now on Hong Kong time and I can’t change it.”

 

“Fine, but I pick the show. I hear there’s a James Bond marathon on TBS. Tonight’s Sean Connery night.” Clint doled out two big burgers and orders of fries. “One of these can keep.”

 

Phil took his spot and  resisted the urge to pinch himself. This couldn’t be real, sitting in his apartment, sharing take out with Chicago’s only wizard, a man with incredible abs and biceps.

 

“Bond it is,” he said, turning on the TV.

 

“Hey Phil?”

 

Turning his head, Phil wasn’t expecting Clint’s hand to slip around his neck and tug him in for a kiss. Warm lips covered his, a quick breath, light pressure and a burst of pleasure. Then Clint pulled back and looked right at Phil.

 

“Happy birthday,” he said.

 

“You know, it just might be after all” Phil replied.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Steve is perfect as a Knight of the Cross, and I still giggle about Hank & Janet as pixies. But I'll never get Loki as Snow Miser and Thor as Heat Miser out of my head now. 
> 
> Yeah, the Gay T-Rex Law Firm is a real book.


End file.
